


This is a Toddler AU. Too lazy for a title.

by anderscones



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, daycare AU, toddler!lock, toddlerlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:06:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anderscones/pseuds/anderscones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregory Lestrade works in a daycare and has to take care of six small children on his own!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                Gregory Lestrade was in over his head. He had no idea why he agreed to take the morning shift _alone_. Toddlers and babies were not easy, especially when it was only Greg’s second week at the day care. It had him running about, holding crying children and making sure that the others were being nice. And then _lunchtime_ came, and it was absolutely hopeless.

                “No, John, you can’t eat that all at once!” he nearly dropped Sally trying to reach the toddler who shoved an entire chicken nugget into his mouth after not chewing the first one. The teenager groaned, fishing one of the chunks out with his fingers and setting it on the blue plastic tray the child was eating off of. “You can’t do that, John.” He scolded, standing and walking towards the sink.

                “Jim, no. Stop taking Sherlock’s lunch.” He muttered over his shoulder, washing his hands, trying to juggle Sally, who was contentedly sucking on her sippy cup. He sat her next to the sink, her chubby legs hanging over the edge.

                “He’s not eating it!” Jim protested back while grabbing another berry from Sherlock’s tray, his speech already amazingly developed for a three year old. Greg highly expected that Sherlock would be the same, as he matched Jim in intellect, possibly even surpassing, but no words came from the child. The only noise Lestrade ever heard from the curly-headed boy were noises of displeasure and the occasional laugh that was drawn out of him by John or one of the other children getting into trouble.

                “Just because he’s not eating doesn’t mean that you can do that; your mummy packed your lunch. Eat that.” He suggested and the little boy flopped onto his back, obviously exasperated. _Dramatic three year olds. Helpful._

                Greg turned fully after pulling Sally off of the counter and did a head count. _1, 2, 3, 4…_ “Sherlock,” he started, knowing that Jim would be uncooperative and that the Holmes child would be more helpful. “Where’s Davey? And Molly?”

                After a pause and a small sigh, Sherlock pointed towards the bathroom door. The _closed_ bathroom door. Greg hurriedly put Sally on her feet and lunged for the toilet. Yanking the door open, he almost burst into tears at the sight. Molly was sitting in the frothy tub, fully clothed and crying silently as the five year old stood in front of her, pouring soap onto her pigtails. _No, no, no, no, no, no._

                “David Allen Anderson, step out of that tub and wait for me outside the door. I don’t want to hear a word from you, just go,” Greg was nearly fuming as he started undressing the poor sniffling two-year-old that sat on the bubbly porcelain. “Oh, Molly…” he muttered, taking the elastics from her hair and starting the water. “I am happy your mum hovers so much.” He admitted out loud, thinking of the multiple pairs of clothes that were sent with the child every Saturday and Sunday. He understood the necessity for a change of clothes, but only _a_ change, maybe two, not seven. He washed the girl and drained the tub, walking out to deal with Davey.

                “Why is it,” Greg started calmly yet with a hint of anger still present. “That you had enough sense to take your socks and shoes off, but not enough to not terrorize the baby?”

                “She’s not a baby…” David muttered, looking at the other children in front of him. John fell asleep, nugget in hand, curled up against Sherlock’s legs, who was finally picking at the strawberry slices in front of him.

                Greg sighed, hands on his hips and shaking his head. “I _will_ be telling your da when he comes to get you later. Go eat.” He turned back into the bathroom and picked Molly up, wrapping her in a large towel. Greg fetched her bag that was in the main hallway and pulled one of the dresses and a diaper out.

                “Jim!” he heard John cry out in a high pitched voice. Greg inwardly groaned and turned his head around the door frame; Jim was sitting on Sherlock, pinning his small body to the ground. The four year old next to them was attempting to push him off the wriggling toddler.

                “James,” Greg walked into the room, baby on his hip. “You have to stop antagonizing Sherlock like that. Let him up.”

                A sigh escaped the dark eyed boy and he released Sherlock. He walked away, but not before aiming a kick at John, who stood himself and effectively shoved Jim. Greg ran over, setting Molly –who was still cocooned in a towel- next to Sherlock, and detangled the fighting toddlers. “John, please,” Greg muttered, as the boy was still struggling to claw at Jim. He eventually stopped, and Lestrade turned to the other boy, who was wearing what he could have sworn was a smirk. “James, stop it; I know what you’re doing, so _stop it._ ” He released the children and turned back to Molly, who, like John, curled up next to Sherlock and was asleep. Sherlock looked less than pleased, but still allowed the sleeping girl to remain where she was on the floor beside him. Greg did another head count. _1,2,3,4,5,6._

                “The two of you, go sit in your time out chairs.” He demanded of the toddlers, who both complied, Jim a little more noisily than John. He straightened himself and picked Molly up, who sleepily protested, and took her back into the bathroom after asking Davey to keep an eye on the younger boys. He dressed the tired little girl and exited to find that Davey, in fact, had _not_ kept an eye on the two boys, as Jim wandered out of his chair and was not in the sitting room any longer. Sherlock had moved, though, and sat next to John’s blue chair and stared at the talking boy before him.

                “John, you know it’s supposed to be time out. Where’s Jim?” Gregory asked, not immediately alarmed, as the toddler knew what was and wasn’t dangerous.

                John shrugged. “He took Sally.” Greg closed his eyes and then looked toward Sherlock, who only looked back.

                “Right,” He muttered and put Molly on one of the mats, as she was sleeping again. Greg left the room and searched the entirety of the small building, slightly panicking that he was missing two children. Eventually, he returned to the sitting room and found that there were six bodies plus his own in the room. “Jim, where did you two go?”

                “I showed Sally this.” Jim answered back, holding a large, multicolored polymer ball out.

                Greg let out a frustrated sigh, not exactly caring where he got it from. “Just- just don’t eat it,” he said, but then added on when the child smiled innocently. “ _Or feed it to anyone,_ ” The smile was dropped. _Demon child. That’s what he is: a demon child._ “Naptime, everyone. Look, Molly’s doing great. Do that.” Lestrade sighed out, completely exhausted by the children and wanting his own lunch. He glanced at the clock. “Except for you, Davey. Your dad will be here in a few minutes. Pack your stuff up.”

                He turned towards the kitchen that was divided from the sitting room by only the counter and retrieved his container of pasta. A knock came from the front door. _Fuck, I just want my lunch._ Not holding back, he groaned and called for Davey and walked into the hallway, opening the door.

                “Hello, Mr. Anderson.” Greg greeted with a theatric smile.

                “Hello, Gregory” Davey came around the corner with his backpack. The parent turned to his son. “Hey, were you good?”

                Greg bit his lip, hoping he wouldn’t realize that someone had to have not been paying enough attention, that someone being himself. “He took one of the little girls into the bathroom and ended up making a bit of mess.”

                “Oh?” the man’s eyes slid back to the baby sitter.

                “He poured most of the soap on her.” A disgruntled look dripped into his features and he looked back to his son, who was obviously trying to hide himself.

                “Well, we’ll have to do something about that, then, hmm? Thank you, Gregory.” The man said, grabbing Davey’s hand and pulling him to the pavement.

                _One kid down, five to go._ Greg walked back into the sitting room to find a crying Sally.

                “Lock, no!” Sherlock was sitting up and pulling at a blanket that Sally clutched to her chest. Lestrade closed his eyes and counted to five before dealing with the matter.

                He picked up Sally and gently pulled the blanket with her. “Sherlock, maybe you should go sleep on the purple one,” Greg nodded towards the end of the row of mats. The child merely scooted closer to the green mat next to him, clutching at the already sleeping John. “So, take him with you and make him sleep on the red one.” The little boy understood every word and started to gently pat his friend, rousing him slowly.

                Greg had to keep himself from smiling as John crankily answered. “What?” Sherlock pointed towards the other end of the row and stood. “Oh. Okay.” John was possibly the most patient child he had ever seen, except when Jim –who was sleeping on the other side of the two year old next to John- antagonized Sherlock.

                By the time the two moved, Sally had fallen asleep on Greg’s shoulder. He was almost reluctant to put Sally back down on the orange foam. But his stomach growled, and he quickly changed his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I wrote this entire thing at once, and I could have stopped at Greg trying to put everyone down for nap time, but I didn't. I wanted to add this part in somewhere, so I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, if you want to keep the cuteness and serenity, don't read. As the writer, I have the power over every single one of my characters, even ones that made no appearances. I didn't feel that this "add on" was really necessary for the "plot progression," and I just wrote this because I wanted to.

After nap time, everyone went back to being tolerable and well-behaved. Eventually, parents came to pick the children up. Sally first, then Molly. Greg explained what happened with her and Davey, and the mother seemed slightly flustered, but grateful that her daughter was okay. _Because a five year old boy is going to drown your kid or something. Right._ Mycroft showed up to take both John and Sherlock home.

“The two of them got into it with Jim again.” Greg offered as the slightly older teen peered around the doorway at the inseparable toddlers.

“Did they?” Mycroft asked, still gazing.

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but Jim was on Sherlock, holding him down practically,” Greg answered, joining Mycroft in watching. “But, you know John. Ended up kicking the shit out of him.”

The nineteen-year-old smiled. “Of course. Sherlock?” the curls bounced as he turned his head. “Mummy wants us home by dinner, and I still have to drop a paper off at the University. Come along.” Sherlock grabbed John by the wrist and practically dragged him to the door. Mycroft gave another smile to Greg as he handed their bags to him and turned with the two boys, leaving him standing in the open door.

“My mummy was s’posed to be here.” Jim mumbled at the back of Greg’s knees.

“She’s probably just late,” Greg offered to the child; his mother was supposed to be there before Mycroft. He appeared to be calm, but Lestrade knew better. “We can play a bit until she comes.” Greg couldn’t leave until 6pm, anyway.

“Can we make something?” asked Jim, craning his neck upwards.

“Sure. How about some putty, yeah?”

 

 

 

It was nearing 5pm, and the two had run out of things to make. There was a small collection of soft goo littering the kitchen, along with dissected polymer balls Jim had packed away in his bag. Greg was beginning to worry. “Jim, how about another nap? I’ll wake you up when your mummy gets here, okay?” the child sleepily rubbed his eyes as the babysitter lifted him from the counter. When he was sure that the toddler was asleep, he reached for the wall phone and pulled out the filing cabinet to find Jim’s contact numbers. He dialed the first number and it immediately sent him to voicemail. He dialed the second number, and no one picked up. _I have no idea what to do with this kid if no one comes to get him._

While he was waiting, Greg cleaned the building up. He dreaded the bathroom, as Davey had gotten soap all over the entire room, not just the tub, so he saved it for last. When he finally got to it, he wanted to skip it, but Greg knew he would get docked pay if someone came into work the next day and saw it, so he took a deep breath and entered the door. It wasn’t as bad as he remembered, and got to work right away. When he finished, it was 5:50. He was about to try to call the numbers again, but a knock at the front door came. Greg blew a sigh out and hurried towards the door.

He opened it. “Thank God. I had to leave at si-“ Greg stopped. Two police officers stood before him.

“Are you Gregory Lestrade?” he nodded. “And James Moriarty is currently in your care, correct?” Greg nodded again, staring blankly. He was almost positive that he had done nothing illegal and wondered exactly what he had done to get the police to show up to his work. “We’re here to take him up to the Yard.”

Greg couldn’t stop himself. “Why?”

“Charlotte Moriarty was attacked on her way here.” His stomach dropped, and he turned towards the sitting room. Jim had awoken and was standing near the hallway, staring at Greg.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the child. “She- she what?”

“She’s in the hospital morgue right now.” Jim joined Greg behind the door and motioned to be picked up. The child knew that something was wrong, but had no idea what it was. Greg lifted him and the toddler immediately leaned into his neck.

“So… she- she… she’s no longer with us, then?” Lestrade managed, and the officer shook his head.

Greg could feel a sniffle crowd his neck; Jim knew something bad happened. “Is mummy coming to get me?”

He swallowed. “No. You probably won’t see her for a very long time.”


End file.
